“I’ve just been stringin’ ’em along,” said Jac. “But you’re different, Carrigan!” And here her eyes rose slowly to his. Far away she sensed the somber face of Ben Craig. She had not much time. Carrigan was looking down at her now. “Look here,” he said bluntly, “you can’t tie every steer in the corral to one rope, Miss Silvestre. Keep the brandin’ iron away from me. The fire ain’t hot enough to hurt me yet. The iron won’t make no mark.” Jac thought of Maude Merriam at the great moment when her husband tells her that he loves another woman. She caught her breath. She made her eyes grow wide. “Do you really think that I would--” “Damn it, Jac, ain’t Maurie and Carey enough for you? And there’s Ben Craig lookin’ at you like a wolf at a calf.” “Carrigan!” The timbre of her voice made him start. She knew that he would not forget her to look after Dolly Maxwell for some time. “Well?” “Do you think I’m a flirt?” “Jac, I’m warnin’ you now. Don’t feed me the spur no more. I’m the fairy godmother. I ain’t the prince in the story.” “Is it all a story?” He groaned. “I thought I would find one man who wasn’t just part of the fairy tale.” “There you go with your book English. Jac, you can’t rope me. I see the shadow of the noose flyin’ over my head an’ I’m goin’ to duck out from under.” She turned away with a far-off sorrow in her face. “There’s tears in your eyes!” A pathetic smile quivered an instant at the corners of her lips. “Honest, ain’t you jest throwin’ a rope, Jac?” “I thought _you_ would understand me, Carrigan.” He was breathing hard. She remembered a caption which had been flashed on a Maude Merriam screen. “I thought you were _big_ enough to understand!” “My God!” whispered Carrigan. “What?” “The rope’s on me!” “Carrigan, why do you play with me like this?” “_Me_ play with _you?_” “Yes. Is it fair?” The keen eyes searched her intently. She felt as the duellist felt when the rapier of a foe slithered up and down his steel. The violin started a run. “The Carrigan Cut!” she cried. He went through with it automatically. “No one can dance like you!” she whispered, as the hand of Ben Craig fell on Carrigan’s arm, and as she moved away with the solemn-faced cow-puncher, she saw Carrigan standing as Dave Carey had done, with the faraway look, like a man who says farewell to everything that matters in his life. Maurie Gordon and Dave Carey, their eyes fixed upon one object on the dancing-floor, came together at a corner of the hall. She drew closer. They started forward at the same time, then stopped and glared at each other with bitter understanding. “Maurie,” said Carey gently, “take my tip. Don’t bother Miss Silvestre no more to-night. It won’t bring you nothin’.” Maurie smiled from the deeps of his pity. “Jacqueline,” he said, with marked emphasis, “has found one man who understands her.”